


Tales of France: Shots Collection

by Virgichuu



Category: Original Work
Genre: 18th Century, Aristocracy, Childhood Friends, Drama, F/M, France - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Historical, Paris - Freeform, Romance, Versailles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virgichuu/pseuds/Virgichuu
Summary: A collection of original one-shots and drabbles picturing scenes and random events in the lives of Christian and Angélique.[French/English]--------Versailles, France, March 21th 1771.This date marks the encounter between two children born to nobility whose unbreakable bond dazzles their contemporary peers----from Louis XVI to the unstable times beyond the revolution, a snippet in the lives of Monsieur de Rosiaire and his wife, la Divine Mademoiselle.





	1. Mademoiselle Angélique [ENG]

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking interest in my original work! I'll be posting a few pieces in French and in English featuring my beloved ocs, Christian and Angélique. I hope you will like them!  
\-------------  
Angélique is grateful for any opportunity to slip away from those sneaky nobles.

"Mademoiselle! Please, stay away from the stables! You will only dirty your new dress..." cried out Rose as she chased after a young blond girl around the hallways.

The moment the young miss is out of sight of the grown-ups, she turns back into the fourteen years old she is supposed to be. Rose sighed as she watched her running towards the stables, her exquisite fan in a hand and folds of her dress in the other. "Lady Yolande will surely get mad..." murmured the nurse in defeat. Her soft frown ended up turning into a resigned smile tainted with contentment before turning away as the sound of Angélique's footsteps grew more distant.

Angélique eventually reached the stables made for the people of the court and as she got close, the sound of chatter grew. Boys' and males' voices. It didn't take her long before she recognized one of them. Her favorite one if you asked her. A radiant smile illuminating her features, she called out,

"Christian!"

The bearer of the name 'Christian' stopped whatever he was busy doing and looked towards the source of the lovely voice that let out his name. As soon as he saw her, his face lit up. The young man gave one last rub to his horse's mane and walked towards his childhood friend. "You ditched Rose again...didn't you?" he scolded affectionately. Angélique opened her fan and hid her mouth as she chuckled mischievously in response.

"It is of no wonder that your voice is so highly praised," interjected one of the boys present in the stables "Even the smallest chuckle sounds like a melody from you Mademoiselle Ange." 

The day was rather quiet and uneventful. When Angélique came to visit the stables, only a few boys around Christian's age and three older lords were present. The boys were seemingly getting ready to go hunting. A bunch of young heirs who never truly got along with Christian.

Angélique lightly bowed with a refined smile "Many thanks for the praise Monsieur Claude." and, as soon as her eyes left him, she grabbed Christian's arm and hurriedly dragged him with her in hopes of leaving the stables. However, Christian gently but firmly held her back, glanced towards Claude and with his lips curled up politely he kindly scolded "I do not believe you possess any right or qualification to address her as "Ange"." and although he was smiling, his voice dripped with sarcasm and mockery as he added "Parvenu."

Claude's face grew hot in anger upon hearing Christian's words, tongue-tied. They had warned him. Charming and amiable on the outside, but a real snake inside. He struck at his sore point without mercy, him, the unwanted son of a declining house. Claude was about to retort but alas, the pair already left. His peers eyed him with gazes of pity mixed with scorn when they weren't simply indifferent before one of them said: "I am not one to agree with that bastard child of the Rosiaire family but he has a point. An Upstart like you has no business trying to get close to someone as precious as Mademoiselle Angélique." 

The nerve! With that, Claude left, his pride unable to sustain any more burns.

Near the parks of the castle, Angélique slowed down, her arm linked with Christian's. Both walked leisurely, without uttering a word. They don't always have to. The air was comfortable and the quietness of the place was slightly rocked by the distant galloping of horses and the soft sound of the wriggling leaves.

"You're not saying anything?" finally started Christian. As much as he enjoyed her quiet company, chatting with her was still a cherished pleasure nonethless. Angélique looked up to him. For a second, she didn't answer and simply wondered about when he had gotten this tall, merely a passing thought before she focused back on his question "You mean, about De Lazelle? Not really. Only you and my family can call me "Ange"." The young girl swung her fan playfully at him with a grin. Christian laughed. "Of course! After all--" he stopped walking and eyed her with a teasing glint "La Divine Mademoiselle shouldn't be casually approached by anyone."

Angélique elbowed him in the ribs. "You-You're too much and calling me 'Mademoiselle' feels so weird coming from you." a faint blush graced her face "You're the last person on Earth I would want calling me that!"

The boy smiled softly, not bothering with a reply for a while before he lightly caressed her hand and sighed with reluctance. "It's getting late, the Queen must be waiting for you." 

She nodded, switching linking their arms for holding his hand as she dragged him anew with her towards the Trianon, casually conversing on the way.


	2. Peintures et Macarons [FR]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angélique wonders why her husband left the estate at dawn without words.  
\----------  
Angélique se demande pourquoi son époux quitta leur maison à l'aube, sans dire un mot.

Un léger parfum d'orient se diffusait depuis l'encens placé dans le salon pendant un de ces après-midis las dont l'intérêt ne pouvait se partager qu'entre une lecture vague d'un ouvrage ou une contemplation silencieuse, sans but précis. La senteur exotique de l'encens venait ajouter une once de nouveauté en ces heures harassées, au temps bien triste d'un Paris nuageux.

Le salon, dont les couleurs à l'origine vives et d'humeur chatoyantes, était plongé dans la pénombre sous le teint morne des nuages. Il s'y faisait sombre comme la nuit et on pouvait, d'ors et déjà, entrevoir quelques gouttelettes de pluie, prêtes à mouiller la capitale.

Henry, le maître d'hôtel, approcha la jeune femme, languis, assise au fauteuil un livre à la main. Le froissement fin de sa tenue impeccablement mise, ne pourrait presque se faire entendre. Une impassibilité polie et soignée se peignait sur visage du vieil homme, traversé par les années, trahit, bien qu'un peu, par une lueur dorlotée dans son regard à l'égard de la jeune femme qu'il a vue naître et grandir.

<<Madame, remarqua Henry, votre thé.>>

Angélique leva gracieusement la tête, tous les gestes qu'elle entreprenait se trouvaient emprunt d'attrait, quels qu'ils soient. Elle acquiesça légèrement mais ne murmura point un mot en réponse.

Henry ne s'en dérogea guère et se tenu debout, immobile, aux côtés de sa maîtresse. Dix-sept ans étaient suffisants pour la connaitre au mieux et sans se faire attendre, la voix divine de la jeune femme se leva :

<<S'en est-il allé ce matin ? Demanda a-t-elle.

–Assurément. Monsieur a pris la voiture aux aurores.

Angélique fit une moue, sa petite bouche arrondis comme un bouton de rose, elle se plaignit :

–Il ne m'en avait guère avisé. >>

Henry se tu une nouvelle fois, sachant le jeune Monsieur parti pour Versailles, le feu aux talons.

~°~

Dans les rues aiguillonnées de Paris, un jeune que l'on ne pourrait qualifier que d'éphèbe, les arpentait avec usage. Une chevelure cendrée par le soleil, des traits fins et élégants ainsi qu'une stature aussi raffiné qu'athlétique, tant de traits d'une sculpture parfaite qui devenaient dangereusement envoutant lors qu'ajoutés à la paire de yeux mielleux au regard sondeur et perçant de leur propriétaire. Il était aisé de l'apercevoir et aussi un régal que de lui accorder quelques coups d'œil en plus, une douce anecdote que les petits gens se conteront autour de leur prochain repas.

Suivis par une calèche aux armoiries familières, à partir de la rue Saint-André-des-Arts, le jeune homme emprunta un passage qui le mena vers la rue Fossés-Saint-Germain et rapidement, il atteignit Le Procope. Il attendu à l'entrée, s'abstenant à la tentation d'un thé ou d'un café, qu'il se fera sûrement un plaisir de quémander une fois de retour chez lui.

Enfin, un jeune homme émergea de l'établissement, n'ayant ni la carrure d'un philosophe, ni l'allure d'un lettré mais la contenance d'un homme du peuple. Apercevant le jeune homme à l'entré, il coupa cour à son élan et l'accosta d'un ton désinvolte :

<<Vous arrivez bien tôt Christian !

Son interlocuteur fronça des sourcils, insatisfait et d'un ton amicale mais fait de reproche il répondit :

–Ne me vouvoie pas, Jul, je t'en prie.

Julien, dit <<Jul>> sourit désolé :

–Bien entendu, excuse-moi. Ce n'est pas une habitude facilement adoptée.

–Je ne t'en veut pas, c'est dans la nature des choses, reconnaissait Christian, enfin, je venais pour ce que je t'avais commandé il y a une quinzaine de cela.

Julien hocha la tête d'un air certain, faisant balancer au passage l'ondulation légère de ses cheveux dorés :

–Pour sûre. Je me suis chargé des touches finales il y a deux jours, puis il ajouta nerveusement, je ne puis qu'espérer que cela plaise à ton épouse.

–Je le souhaite également bien que j'ai foi en tes talents. J'ai la fâcheuse manie de m'inquiéter de chacune de ses réactions même en la connaissant comme le revers de ma main.

–Tu es épris d'elle, ce ne serait que naturel, susurra Julien.

Christian haussa le sourcil, un sourire taquin mais grisant au coin des lèvres et commenta :

–Tu semble avoir vécu !

–Pas à la première personne ! Rechigna Julien, C'est l'expérience de mes clients, voilà tout. Tu n'es pas le premier à me commander un portrait de ta belle.>>

Christian laissa échapper un rire honnête, ses épaules tressaillant légèrement sous l'émotion, et, s'étant repris, il mit fin à la conversation, le visage lumineux. Il suivit Julien jusqu'à chez lui, ignoré comme à l'accoutumé par la mère de ce dernier. Quelques minutes s'échappèrent avant que Julien n'émergea de son taudis et tendit délicatement à Christian une toile que celui-ci recouvrit d'un drap blanc avant que ce dernier laisse à l'artiste une bourse qui rassemblait la seconde moitié du paiement due.

Après s'être échangé quelques plaisanteries, ils se quittèrent en bon point et s'en retournaient à leurs vies respectives, celle qu'ils menaient en l'absence de l'autre alors que la pluie se faisait plus forte.

L'heure du dîner approchait quand Christian arriva. Il fut accueilli par Henry qui l'informa des évènements notables de la journée alors qu'André, en cocher assidu, s'adonna à sa besogne. Le vieux maître d'hôtel finis de conter avant de mentionner l'humeur terne de sa maîtresse, qui, à la minute où ils discutaient, s'occupait à la harpe.

Christian pris les paroles d'Henry à cœur et se hâta de rejoindre son épouse. Ne l'ayant guère vu de la journée, son absence lui laissai qu'un vide amer qu'il ne pouvait combler qu'avec elle à ses côtés. Elle était sa plus douce amie, sa confidente et une de ces femmes pour lesquelles on serait capable de mourir sans hésitation. _Sa_ femme.

Il la vit assise à sa harpe, un modèle tout récent et aussi plaisant à regarder qu'à écouter, un présent de mariage que lui offrit Monsieur Marius. Les notes, fragiles, s'échappaient du pincement de ses doigts d'ivoire sur les cordes solides de l'instrument. Les yeux de la jeune femme, d'un bleu aussi infinis que l'océan, étaient plongés dans le vide, ne prêtant attention aux alentours. Ce n'est que lorsqu'elle sentit un poids pressant tendrement sur ses épaules qu'elle sursauta, prise de peur par quiconque osa se placer furtivement à son dos.

Elle leva brusquement la tête et son regard se posa sur l'homme qui partageait sa vie depuis bien des années déjà :

<<Tu es rentré ! S'exclama-t-elle, alors que moi je m'ennuya ici toute la journée.

–Voyons, pas tant que cela ! Répondit Christian, visiblement amusé par l'attitude enfantine de sa conjointe.

–Bien sûre que si mais, oh ! Tu es trempé !

Angélique oublia rapidement ses rancunes et ordonna qu'on apporte de quoi sécher le jeune homme, l'inquiétude et le chagrin jouant sur son visage. Ce n'est qu'après avoir été certaine qu'il soit séché et réchauffé qu'elle daigna l'écouter.

–Où étais-tu donc passé ? En dehors du Palais, j'entends.

–Chercher ceci. Répondit Christian avant de faire appel à Henry.

Le vieil homme approcha le couple et tendit un objet drapé en blanc, par ailleurs, il lui glissa également une petite boîte délicate avant de se retirer enfin.

–Avant tout, goute à ces macarons. La reine m'a chargé de te les offrir, c'est du Dalloyau. Annonça-t-il, un sourire marqué de tendresse.

Angélique l'observa surprise, les yeux brillants d'anticipation mais Christian ne pouvait pas la tromper, elle savait pertinemment qu'il en avait sûrement sollicité plutôt auprès des souverains, d'une façon ou d'une autre.

–Réellement ? Je n'ai pas eu le plaisir d'en avoir depuis si longtemps ! S'exclama-t-elle.

–Je ne le sais que trop bien, il rie, mais je veux que tu m'accordes ton attention pour autre chose.

–De quoi s'agit-il ?

Christian resta interdit, se leva, la toile qu'il avait commandée à Julien tantôt entre ses mains, toujours recouverte d'un drap crémeux qu'il se décida enfin à retirer.

Sur la dite toile était peinte une jeune femme à la beauté suffocante, le teint ivoirien et pure, des yeux bleus pétillants de vie et aussi profond que les abysses, ses longs cheveux d'un blond d'orge dorées au soleil cascadaient sans retenue sur les courbes souples de sa nuque et de ses épaules délicates tandis que ses sourcils expressifs suivaient le mouvement rayonnant des traits d'un visage à couper le souffle, adoré par un vif dessin des lèvres d'un rose captivant, formant un sourire éclatant complimenté d'un adorable grain de beauté.

Il n'y avait qu'une seule femme dont Christian commandait des portraits et des esquisses. Un ange, son Angélique.

Et cette dernière, observait le chef-d'œuvre stupéfaite, haletante, ne sachant comment réagir. Le regarder était comme regarder son reflet dans une glace et elle savait, que si Dieu avait donné à son Christian un talent de peintre, cette représentation de sa personne jouirait d'une beauté presque blasphématoire tant l'artiste aimait son modèle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merci d'avoir lu jusqu'ici ! J'affectionne d'écrire en Française, quelque chose dans laquelle je ne fais pas assez à mon gout. J'espère que ceci vous plaira autant que j'en suis fière (pour le moment lol).  
Si vous souhaitez discuter de vos ocs ou poser des questions sur les miens, n'hésitez pas.


	3. Adoring Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christian never stays bored for long when his wife is in the vicinity.

_XXX month 1785, Austria_

Every year, he made it a rule to leave the bubbling but noisy Paris and Versailles for the quiet mansion he previously acquired in Austria. The quaint and dainty building was surrounded by lush greenery and appetizing fruit trees whereas its fields brimmed with vitality and the terrain’s most noticeable feature was probably its small but abundant and healthy vineyard.

The mansion was based at a good distance from the nearest influential city but at an hour from the nearest village. Any other habitations of consequence were too remote, the closest being a mansion an hour away from here on horse.

Christian first took Angélique here three years ago, wishing to offer this peaceful place to her as a wedding gift and providing her with the opportunity to visit Austria in guise of honeymoon. It is, in fact, a great achievement at his young and immature age to manage the feat of owning a place such as this and Christian was plenty aware of his own growing fortune made at the expense of the wealthy and the “pious” (something he was proud of). If credit were rightfully due, Jacques’s aid was quite precious and his guiding hand gratefully taken. Christian generously admitted his own share of the work and truthfully didn’t care about the whos and the whats as long as his _Ange_ was satisfied.

Thus, here he was three years later, relishing being in the company of his treasured wife, far from the excited Paris and scheming Versailles. The weather seemed to be in his favor during this comfortable late afternoon, the world looking still, barely disturbed by the sound of leaves dancing to the wind as a few birds chirped in accompaniment.

Soon, the book in his hands lost his interest since observing his spouse was an activity he preferred on a whole other level. Seated next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, Angélique was focused on some essays recently written and published in the country. He never quite understood how she managed to naturally give off the smell of roses without any superfluous addition of perfume or incense, but he didn't mind giving the _Seigneur _the benefit of the doubt. The faint but enticing odor nonetheless, easily attracted him to her like a bee to a flower. Any rational thought was quickly thrown at the back of his mind in her company.

Her silky blond hair flowed gently over her shoulder, loosely tied by a ribbon in a casual and languid manner. Strands of her hair went from blond to luminous white in the light of the setting sun, casting a faint heavenly halo on her head, and he was pretty sure no one on earth could wear the name "Angélique" as well as she does. Her faint and calm breathing barely felt, would have lulled Christian to sleep if he wasn’t so deeply entranced by his wife, _as usual_.

Her ivory skin seemed to be twinkling with a few specks of light and the striking contrast with her half-parted and plump rose lips made them all the more inviting. The slow rise and fall of her chest along with her naked collarbones, barely graced with a simple piece of jewelry, made the view both seductive and too pure to be lusted upon. _Quite_ the dilemma.

Angélique didn’t seem to notice her husband’s attention, engrossed with the interesting essays on education she got her hands on. Her eyes downcast, hiding their moving blue from the young man by her side, unaware that her bored husband went from simply admiring to turning into a greedy man.

Christian loved his wife from the depths of his soul. No one would be able to understand the extent of his adoration for her.

Smiling to himself, he rested his head on top of hers but didn’t dare putting his weight on it by fear of burdening her. Her scent assaulted his senses anew, and he lost his train of thought for a second before turning the angle of his head so as that his lips and nose hid in the soft mass of hair. Right about the same time, he moved his hand to grasp her free one. He could get drunk on this sensation. The feeling of her small, petite hand in his own, large calloused ones always provided him with an immense sense of comfort and satisfaction. For a while, he engrossed himself in playing with her fingers, playfully grabbing and pinching here and there. The lovely curve of her fingertips was adorable beyond reason, the hand itself almost boneless and always carried gracefully. He was taken to memory lane for a few seconds, remembering the etiquette classes she had to attend. She had been quite clumsy at first.

Soon however, he craved for a little more and completely shifted from his original position to one where he could blissfully hug his wife from behind, his arms lovingly encircling her waist as he rested his head on her shoulder, bringing her dainty back to his chest, unwilling to tire her otherwise. Gladly, Angélique let him do as he pleased and coordinated well into making herself more comfortable against his torso and as cheesy and over-heard as it was, she felt safe beyond measure in his arms. 

This newfound angle gave him more room to maneuver and soon fully dedicated himself to leave trails of kisses on her neck, a few pecks and the back of her ear careful to not distract her from her reading, and feeling the lips of her husband on her, Angélique didn’t reject his advances and readily welcomed his homely affection.


	4. Baby Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prosper thoughts on having a younger brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For understanding's sake, Prosper is Angélique's and Christian's eldest, just after him comes Rose and eventually Théophile (they are more children to come because certain people can't keep their hands off each other)

It was expected that years of experience provided the knowledge and training needed into mastering a skill to perfection and beyond. This was what Prosper would have thought until five years ago when on a fateful day, another member joined their growing family.

Last March saw the birth of a third De Rosiaire, a baby boy with extremely loud red hair. This newborn was taken of with love and devotion from everyone and Prosper never once felt like his place had been robbed, since, between him and this new sibling stood their sister─Rose. With as much fervor as everyone else, he strove to be to Théophile (as baptized) a brother as good as he hoped he was and will be to Rose.

Somehow, it was easier said than done. Théophile, growing up, was the cheekiest brat he was ever doomed to deal with. From bouillon in his shoes to tasteful art on the tapestry, he had done it all. Prosper never failed to notice the child’s tendency to shift the blame on him for harmless pranks which only took a look from their mother for Théophile to admit his mistake. His mischievousness was endless, and he was beginning to show quite the talent in acting.

Yet, Prosper always fell asleep to the sight of a peaceful redheaded mess of a child clinging to him, feeling safe enough by his brother’s side when monsters still lived under children’s bed and the shadows of the threes outside reminded him of the treacherous arms of evil sorcerers.


End file.
